


Kismesis

by zealousrebelmaker



Category: Evillious Chronicles
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Blood and Gore, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Character Study, Eventual Romance, Fluff, M/M, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 06:52:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4170174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zealousrebelmaker/pseuds/zealousrebelmaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Please. Let me hate you." He just wants that and nothing more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kismesis

**Author's Note:**

> First multi-chaptered fanfiction on AO3 and I sure hope I can finish this one. I think I'll faint from all the all-nighters that clearly don't mean anything.

**  
**

Insanity is so romanticized in Behemo's opinion. The media's rife with supposedly maddening images and songs portraying artists who are supposed to give off the insane and mentally ill vibe when they clearly haven't visited an asylum before. He supposes, sure, that the insane dance around in their cells and dream that they're the kings and queens of whatever fictional country they're supposed to be in, but the media is just making him sick. The fans lap it up and post random comments on how they feel the same way and Behemo groans whenever he opens his laptop to even do a piece of research.

If you all feel the same way, feel free to be admitted, idiots. 

 

He envies them, to be honest. They're simple. He wishes that he could be that simple in thinking, feeling, anything.

He watches some girl in her art therapy sessions, and he admits silently to himself that he can't draw anything to save his life. She takes red and blue, and makes it painfully clear that the blue stick figure is a boy, and the red one is a girl. Stereotypes seem to reach to her too.

Behemo yawns.

"It's me and my prince, and we'll live in this castle," the girl points out, as if she's teaching him some very important lesson for a final exam. 

The castle looks like some tiny farmhouse, in his opinion, but he spares a sweet smile.

"Do you have a prince and a castle too?" she asks, and he realizes that he's every bit as much as a fairy princess is anyways, and he indulges her, if only to distract himself from the remaining thoughts that he has on a late shift.

"...I'm waiting for one to whisk me away," Behemo lies sweetly.

 

He's the moon to his sister's sun. She's the day and he's the night.

So as the moon, as the night, he's fine with being at the sidelines, fine with Levia sometimes taking the reins in the research facility. He can't really care less, because she's all that matters to him nowadays as a healthy measure of a sibling-like relationship. As the brother, he's supposed to take care of the sister, even if the sister's older, because the brother's obviously stronger. 

People search for things that they want to be affiliated with. If they can't find it, they get sad, depressed, angry because their kind's not acknowledged. 

But Behemo's different. He's alright with not belonging anywhere. He's his sister's brother, his parents' son, someone else's nightmare, and even _that's_ not pieced properly.

 

His standstill ends when he finds himself running to the board room like some madman, his dress flapping about as he passes by countless wards just to get to the elevator.

Screw the elevator, he'll take the stairs. His flats give him more flexibility and feet space than sneakers can, and he runs down the emergency fire exit as he gets to the 5th floor from the 10th. His coat's hindering him but he can't take it off due to protocol, and he runs, knocking over a few patients in the process. Mikulia cries and huddles away and Behemo mouths a quick 'Sorry' that obviously didn't mean anything.

He's never felt this angry in _years._

He opens the board room door without knocking and he sees his boss smiling at him professionally (like he always does), and tells him to take a seat. He's been late. Everyone's been waiting for him.

His sister's there, probably praying that he doesn't make a scene. 

He hears that a brilliant scientist from Team 3 had upgraded his works. Took the method and applied a tiny little something. It's a secret research, and they credit it to not only him, but to the copycat in celebration, Seth Twiright.

Behemo feels like he's been violated.

Stripped.

Laid on an experimenting table, stark naked, touched against his will.

He chooses not to notice Seth's obviously fake smile which is clearly directed at him, and he chooses not to hear the words of false congratulations coming out from that disguisting mouth. He chooses to ignore the sentences that reflect Seth's supposed admiration for having created humans not from cloning or cells, but from something else entirely that he could be called a private god.

"You should be _worshipped_ , Professor," Seth laughs.

He stretches his mouth into a very ingratiating smile, shakes Seth's hand and when the entire damn thing was over, he stands there alone, defeated for the first time.

 

 

 

 


End file.
